Balcony Stories eBook

“I give you my word, Louise, I had forgotten
there was such a thing as marriage in the world for
me! I had forgotten it as completely as the chronology
of the Merovingian dynasty, alas! with all the other
school things forgotten. And I do not believe
Clementine remembered there was such a possibility
in the world for me. Mon Dieu! when a girl is
poor she may have all the beauty in the world—­not
that I had beauty, only a little prettiness.
But you should have seen Clementine! She screamed
for joy when she told me. Oh, there was but one
answer according to her, and according to everybody
she could consult, in her haste. They all said
it was a dispensation of Providence in my favor.
He was young, he was strong; he did not make a fortune,
it was true, but he made a good living. And what
an assistance to have a man in the family!—­an
assistance for Clementine and the children. But
the principal thing, after all, was, he wanted to
marry me. Nobody had ever wanted that before,
my dear!

“Quick, quick, it was all arranged. All
my friends did something for me. One made my
peignoirs for me, one this, one that—­ma
foi! I did not recognize myself. One made
all the toilet of the bureau, another of the bed,
and we all sewed on the wedding-dress together.
And you should have seen Clementine, going out in all
her great mourning, looking for a house, looking for
a servant! But the wedding was private on account
of poor papa. But you know, Loulou, I had never
time to think, except about Clementine and the children,
and when I thought of all those poor little children,
poor papa’s children, I said ‘Quick, quick,’
like the rest.

“It was the next day, the morning after the
wedding, I had time to think. I was sitting here,
just as you see me now, in my pretty new negligee.
I had been looking at all the pretty presents I have
shown you, and my trousseau, and my furniture,—­it
is not bad, as you see,—­my dress, my veil,
my ring, and—­I do not know—­I
do not know—­but, all of a sudden, from
everywhere came the thought of my brun, my
handsome brun with the mustache, and the bonne
aventure, ricke, avenant, the Jules, Raoul, Guy,
and the flower leaves, and ‘il m’aime,
un pen, beaucoup, pas du tout,’ passionnement,
and the way I expected to meet him walking to and
from school, walking as if I were dancing the steps,
and oh, my plans, my plans, my plans,—­silk
dresses, theater, voyages to Europe,—­and
poor papa, so fine, so tall, so aristocratic.
I cannot tell you how it all came; it seized my heart,
and, mon Dieu! I cried out, and I wept, I wept,
I wept. How I wept! It pains me here now
to remember it. Hours, hours it lasted, until
I had no tears in my body, and I had to weep without
them, with sobs and moans. But this, I have always
observed, is the time for reflection—­after
the tears are all out. And I am sure God himself
gave me my thoughts. ‘Poor little Mimi!’